Had I specifically requested a stressful and sad time, I would not have gotten anything near what I had last week.

With my first deadline approaching October 14th, I found myself tense, stressed and distracted as the week began.

There were many checkmarks on my “to do list”: the English edit was completed, and the Spanish was about to be completed, despite all the hurdles we had to overcome: no internet, therefore no Skype, bad phone communications, and time differences. My editor in Cordoba, a busy mother with young children and a business and home to run, made the time to finish the work. We ended up communicating through What’s App in half words, but got it done.

The cover was well under way.

The week looked like it was having an auspicious beginning as I went to sleep on Tuesday thinking all was well with the world, although I have to admit that some ghosts of the past had been chasing me, as if to warn me of some impending tragedy.

On Wednesday morning, the world turned upside down. Nothing mattered, as I received the sad news from Argentina, about the death of a young nephew, 39, who left behind a beautiful wife and two young boys, six and 18 months.

As I was falling asleep thinking “all was well with the world”, a young family was losing their dad, their partner, their soul mate — their umbrella of protection.

I did not want to make this about me or my own tragedy 23 years ago, when my young husband also left us unexpectedly. But I could not help it. I thought about my young niece Lucila in the same circumstances as I was, the silence of the home, the surreality of the moment, the waking up in the middle of the night looking for him, the explanation to a too young boy, the regrets, the words we said and the words we failed to say.

In the blink of an eye lives changed forever.

I cannot say I knew Esteban Kuten well. We met at family parties, I saw him at family events. I do know that he had an impact on my life, as little as I knew him, and I surmise that he has left, in those that loved him and knew him well, a hole as large as the wound left by the World Trade Center in New York City after September 11.

When I reached out to Esteban, he gave me his full attention. A busy doctor, he made me believe I was the only person in the world that mattered to him at that moment. I called a few times worried about my mom, and each time, he gave me his undivided attention. I am told he was the same with everyone he met, including one of my daughters in Buenos Aires who often saw him in the neighborhood.

We were all touched, touched by an angel.

This last week, after the news, I decided to try to be like that, to give my undivided attention to those who needed my help. Let me tell you, it is not easy to be like Esteban!

I lit a candle near a vase of roses from my garden to remind me to be like that angel that I now regret not getting to know better. Giving someone your attention in this world full of phones, gadgets and doorbells is almost impossible. But i gave it a good try, in honor of Esteban. In some cases, I hope I was able to bring a ray of sunshine into someone’s life.

It has led me to wonder how a 39 year old doctor in the prime of his life with his own practice, two young kids whom he adored, a young partner, also a doctor, a big family and a ton of good friends — I do wonder through what magic he was able to make us all feel like we were the only person that mattered at that moment, the only star in his universe. And indeed I know for a fact that I was touched by an angel.

In his honor, in a world sorely needing more angels, today we all need to take some time to practice some of that kutenmagic.